Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, the son of Donn and foster son of Aengus Óg, strode through the broadly lit hallways of the Hyatt Hotel.
He was also known as Diarmuid of the Love Spot, cursed with a magical love spot that bewitched any woman who gazed upon it. Despite this curse, or perhaps because of it, Diarmuid was a man of unwavering honor and chivalry.
He had once been the first spear of the knights of Fianna, and his tragic love affair with Grainne had left a deep scar on his soul.
As he walked, Diarmuid's thoughts drifted back to his past.
He remembered the wedding party where Gráinne had fallen in love with him, placing a geis upon him to run away with her.
Despite his loyalty to Fionn mac Cumhaill, Diarmuid had honored the geis, seeing it as a test of his pride.
He had never blamed Gráinne for her actions, admiring her courage to throw away her title and future for love.
Even in his final moments, betrayed by Fionn's jealousy, Diarmuid had felt no anger towards his lord.
Now, summoned to the Fourth Holy Grail War, Diarmuid saw an opportunity to regain his honor.
His master, Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald, was a man of immense magical talent but lacked the noble qualities Diarmuid valued. Despite this, Diarmuid remained loyal, hoping that through noble battles, he could deliver the Grail to his master.
Diarmuid's mind flashed back to the recent battle. He had made his location known, following Kayneth's orders, and Saber had answered the challenge. Their fight had been intense, with Diarmuid managing to strike her with Gáe Buidhe.
However, Saber had unleashed a powerful blast of mana, nearly striking him down. To his shame, Kayneth had used a command seal to save him, an act Diarmuid saw as an utter failure on his part.
Before the battle could continue, Rider had interrupted, followed by Berserker, Archer, and Assassin watching from the shadows.
Then, a consuming darkness had enveloped them all. It was only Rider's concert of lightning and Archer's blinding golden glow that had pierced through the darkness.
Diarmuid's Mind's Eye had saved him from immediate death as Archer opened rifts in space, unleashing a barrage of Noble Phantasms.
The climax of the battle had been a death beam of pure light, slamming into the docks and dispelling the darkness. Diarmuid had instinctively jumped into the ocean, recognizing the removal of Caster's bounded field and anticipating another attack.
He had remained in spirit form until he reached the Hyatt Hotel, where he explained the events to Kayneth and Sola-Ui.
Kayneth, usually quick to berate, sat in silence, a look of deep contemplation on his face. Sola-Ui, Kayneth's fiancée, tried to console Diarmuid, but he remained distant, his thoughts occupied by the recent events.
Kayneth's thoughts, however, were elsewhere. He had taken a loan from Aozaki Touko, the enigmatic mage known for her vast powers and no-nonsense attitude.
The loan had funded his preparations for the Holy Grail War, and failure would mean severe consequences. But Kayneth, confident in his abilities, woulf never entertained the idea of losing.
As a mage, Kayneth prided himself on his vast knowledge and skills. He had gamed the Holy Grail's summoning system to shift the mana burden to Sola-Ui, freeing himself for other tasks. His expertise spanned alchemy, necromancy, evocation, summoning, and healing.
Yet, despite his talents, the recent battle had shaken him.
Mentally, Kayneth analyzed the situation.
The darkness and light, the precise attacks, all pointed to a Caster.
Constant emphasis on light and dark.
Mirrors upon mirrors with the way light was focused and manipulated.
He could only conclude that the enemy was likely Archimedes, whose abilities were based on his known work with the theoretical "death ray".
This realization brought a mix of dread and determination. Kayneth knew he needed to adjust his strategies, harnessing his full arsenal of magecraft to face this new threat.
Diarmuid remained resolute.
He was a knight, bound by his code of honor, and he would see this war through to the end.
The Holy Grail War was his chance to restore his pride, and he would fight with every ounce of his strength to achieve that goal.
As the night grew darker, Diarmuid and Kayneth prepared for the battles to come. The stakes were high, but both master and servant were ready to face whatever challenges awaited them.
The Fourth Holy Grail War was far from over, and both men knew that the true battles had only just begun.
Gilgamesh walked through the Red Light District of Fuyuki City, his presence an unmistakable blend of grandeur and intimidation. Clad in a dark black suit paired with a blood-red dress shirt and a black vest, he moved with the effortless grace , surveying "his" dominion.
His crimson eyes scanned the surroundings with a mixture of disdain and curiosity, taking in the bustling casinos, dimly lit bars, and gaudy brothels that lined the streets.
He stepped into a casino first, the cacophony of slot machines and the murmur of gamblers creating a backdrop to his musings. The place was a pale imitation of the grand gambling houses of his time, lacking sophistication but replacing it with opulence than that had once been the standard.
Yet, it was not the quality of the establishment that truly held his attention, but rather the state of the people within.
Modern humanity, he thought with a sneer, is a far cry from the resilient and purposeful citizens of Uruk.
The patrons of this casino were listless, driven by a shallow pursuit of fortune rather than any meaningful ambition.
He watched them squander their money and their time, and a deep sense of disappointment welled up within him.
Gilgamesh left the casino after winning every game and made his way to a nearby bar. He took a seat at the counter, ordering the finest wine they had to offer. The drink was decent, but it could not compare to the exquisite vintages he had once enjoyed. As he sipped, his thoughts turned to the clown in a bat themed garment —the human who had managed to make such an impression on the battlefield.
The, heh, Batman, was a curious enigma. Unlike the Heroic Spirits, he was a man of the present, yet he possessed a determination and resourcefulness that set him apart from the rest of modern humanity.
Gilgamesh respected strength and conviction, and "Batman" seemed to have both.
His performance in combat had been decent.
More entertaining than any other mongrel at least.
But what truly intrigued Gilgamesh was the Batman's unwavering commitment to his ideals. And how it hadn't been broken yet.
In a world filled with corruption and apathy, here was a man who refused to bend to the whims of fate or the pressures of society.
The air was thick with perfume and the sound of laughter, but Gilgamesh's mind was elsewhere.
A was a reminder that even in an age of complacency and mediocrity, there were still those who could rise above. It was this potential that kept Gilgamesh from dismissing modern humanity entirely, even as he held them in contempt for their many failings.
His thoughts shifted back to his own purpose in this era. The Holy Grail War was a stage upon which he could judge the worth of those who sought its power. The Batman had earned a measure of Gilgamesh's patience, but that was not enough.
Gilgamesh needed to see if this man could truly stand against the evils that humanity had birthed, to see if he could be the exception in a world of mongrels.
As he left the brothel and continued his walk through the district, Gilgamesh contemplated the broader implications he considered the trials that lay ahead. The Batman would be tested, as would the rest of humanity. They would have to prove their worth to him. The Holy Grail War was a crucible, and only those with true strength and conviction would emerge unscathed.
Humanity stood on the brink of a new era, and it was up to them to determine their fate. Gilgamesh, the King of Heroes, would watch, judge, and perhaps even guide them. But in the end, it was their actions, their choices, that would decide the outcome.
As he took a seat in the VIP section and ordered another drink, he allowed himself a moment of reflection. The world had changed in countless ways since his reign, but some things remained constant. The struggle for meaning, the quest for greatness, the desire to leave a lasting legacy—these were the threads that connected the past to the present.
And so, Gilgamesh would continue to walk among them, measuring their worth, challenging their resolve, and perhaps, finding those rare few who could stand shoulder to shoulder with the greatest heroes of legend.
The Holy Grail War was not just a battle for power; it was a crucible for the soul of humanity. And Gilgamesh, the King of Heroes, would see to it that the worthy were recognized and the unworthy cast aside. For in the end, it was not just about survival, but about proving that humanity still had the potential to reach the stars, to stand equal to the gods, and to carve out a destiny worthy of their ancient legacy.
As the night wore on and the city pulsed with life, Gilgamesh sat back, his crimson eyes glinting with anticipation. The future was uncertain, but it was in that uncertainty that he found the greatest thrill.
For in the end, it was the journey, the struggle, and the triumphs that defined the true worth of a king and his people.
That was what the King lived for.
Tokiomi Tohsaka stood in his study, the moonlight filtering through the large windows casting a pale glow over the room. The air was heavy with the scent of old books and polished wood, lending an air of wisdom and refinement to the study. Shadows danced across the walls, giving the room an aura of mystery and intrigue, as if it held secrets waiting to be discovered. The silence was broken only by the soft rustling of papers and the occasional creak of the floorboards.
The events at the docks played over and over in his mind, each detail etched into his memory. After interrupting a duel, and the arrival of more from the provaction of Alexander The Great (or Iskander has he shouted to the skies). He had expected chaos then, a free-for-all brawl among all but the Caster Class Servant.
But what transpired was ... beyond anything he had anticipated.
He watched in awe as the battlefield was enveloped in a barrier of pure darkness. The barrier of pure darkness seemed to swallow the surrounding landscape, erasing all traces of light and color. It emanated an eerie, palpable sense of foreboding, making it difficult for anyone caught within its grasp to see or move. The once bustling battlefield fell into an eerie stillness, as if frozen in time, leaving Tokiomi Tohsaka and the other onlookers in a state of trepidation.
It was an all-consuming void, a darkness so thick it seemed to swallow all light. Tokiomi had felt a pang of fear, a rare emotion for the composed magus. Yet, within that darkness, a single point of light had shone brilliantly: Gilgamesh. His Servant had glowed like the sun, a beacon of arrogance and power amidst the void.
The King of Heroes had not merely survived the onslaught but had thrived in it. Gilgamesh had unleashed waves upon waves of Noble Phantasms with effortless grace, each weapon a testament to his unparalleled might. Tokiomi had been certain that Gilgamesh could overwhelm any single Servant, but to see him handle multiple foes simultaneously was a revelation. The sheer power he wielded, the ease with which he dispatched his enemies, was a spectacle that both awed and terrified Tokiomi.
The death that had descended from the sky would have obliterated any other Servant.
Gilgamesh had blocked it with disdainful ease.
The golden glow of his armor, the opulence of his treasures, and the sheer destructive force at his command were enough to make Tokiomi reevaluate everything he thought he knew about the war and his tools.
The King of Heroes was not just a powerful ally; he was a force of nature, a being capable of possibly nullifying Command Seals, bypassing numerous magical effects, and effortlessly defending against even the most potent attacks.
When Gilgamesh returned to the mansion, it seemed that he was in high spirits, amused by the night's events.
He had even been generous enough to deploy multiple defenses from the Gate of Babylon. Auto Defensors(?), miniature golden (metal or mana unknown) orbs that shot magic lightning at any threat, and magic shields now guarded the mansion. Tokiomi watched as these treasures hovered around, a testament to the king's power and disdain for any would-be attackers.
Tokiomi sighed, his thoughts turning to his family. Aoi, his wife, and his daughters, Rin and Sakura.
His decision to give Sakura to the Matou family was a calculated one, based on the need to preserve her ability and her protection.
Yet, as he pondered the events at the docks, he began to question his choices.
He remembered the day he had made the decision to give Sakura away.
Aoi was shocked. Her eyes were filled with a mixture of sorrow and resignation.
She had not openly opposed him, understanding the weight of their duty as magi.
But Tokiomi could see the pain in her eyes, the unspoken words that lingered between them.
Rin, too young to understand the gravity of the situation, simply watched with wide eyes as her sister was taken away.
Tokiomi's thoughts then drifted to Rin.
She had shown great potential as a magus, inheriting the Tohsaka family's affinity for jewel-based magecraft. He had spent countless hours teaching her, guiding her in the ways of their family.
The events at the docks had been a stark reminder of the brutal reality of the Holy Grail War. The power and chaos, the deadly stakes, had shaken him to his core. He realized that his plans, meticulous and calculated as they were, might not be enough. The presence of Gilgamesh had given him a temporary sense of security, but it had also made him acutely aware of the unpredictable nature of the war.
He thought of Kirei Kotomine, his apprentice, who played a pivotal role in his plans. Kirei, with his unyielding loyalty and formidable skills, was an invaluable asset.
As Tokiomi stood there, he made a decision.
He could not continue on his current path, blind to the complexities and dangers that surrounded him.
He needed to adapt, to change his approach if he were to secure victory and protect his family. He would not rely solely on the power of Gilgamesh cause of his personality or earlier machinations. He would take a more active role, using his own skills and knowledge to influence the outcome.
Tokiomi knew that the road ahead would be fraught with danger and uncertainty. But he was determined to see it through, to reach Akasha and secure the future of the Tohsaka family. As he walked back to his desk, he felt a renewed sense of purpose. The events at the docks had been a wake-up call, but they had also given him a glimpse of the power he could wield. And with that power, he would carve a path to victory, no matter the cost.
The path to Akasha was fraught with peril, but he was prepared to walk it, for the sake of his family and the legacy of the Tohsaka name.
Waver Velvet sat slumped in his chair, his mind reeling from the events that had just transpired. He had always known that the Holy Grail War would be dangerous, but the sheer scale of the battle he had witnessed at the docks had left him paralyzed with fear.
The sight of the Servants, each one a living legend, clashing with such overwhelming power was a stark reminder of his own inadequacies.
He felt like mere boy playing at being a magus.
Ever since he had joined the Clock Tower, Waver had been called many things.
He had heard it all, and each insult had only deepened his insecurities.
He knew he was not from a prestigious family of magi.
The Velvet line was young, only three generations old, and he had none of the inherent talent or resources that others possessed.
His grandmother had learned magecraft from a lover, his mother had practiced it sporadically, and he was the first to truly commit to the path. But even his commitment felt woefully insufficient in the face of the might arrayed against him.
Waver had joined the Fourth Holy Grail War with the intention of proving himself, of showing the world that he was more than just a spoiled, insecure boy.
He had stolen the catalyst meant for Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald, his former mentor and a lord of the Clock Tower, and used it to summon Rider, the mighty King of Conquerors, Iskander.
From the moment he had summoned Rider, Waver's life had been a whirlwind of emotions and challenges.
Rider was unlike anyone Waver had ever met.
He was brash, confident, and exuded a sense of authority that demanded respect.
Waver ... often found himself at odds with Rider, arguing and bickering over strategies and plans.
But despite their frequent clashes, Rider had a way of cutting through Waver's insecurities, of seeing the potential within him that even Waver himself doubted.
Waver's thoughts drifted back to the docks.
The battle was chaos incarnate. Servants clashed with such ferocity, darkness enveloped the battlefield, and then the brilliant light of Archer cutting through it all. The Golden King had unleashed a torrent of Noble Phantasms, a display of power so overwhelming that it had left Waver trembling.
He had realized then just how dangerous the war truly was, how easily he could be crushed underfoot by these legendary figures.
As he sat there, wallowing in his fear and self-doubt, the towering Macedoean Servant took one look at Waver's despondent state and let out a sigh of exasperation. Without a word, he crossed the room and delivered a sharp slap to Waver's face. The sharp slap echoed through the room, leaving Waver stunned and wide-eyed. The slap stung Waver's cheek and reverberated through his entire being.
The force of the blow snapped Waver out of his reverie, and he stared up at Rider with a mix of shock and indignation.
"Enough of this, Waver," Rider said, his voice firm but not unkind. "I will not stand for this pathetic display. You are my Master, and you will not cower like a frightened child."
Waver swallowed hard, his cheeks burning with both the sting of the slap and the shame of his own cowardice. He wanted to argue, to lash out at Rider for humiliating him, but the words died in his throat. Instead, he took a deep breath and nodded, trying to steady himself.
Rider's expression softened slightly, and he placed a hand on Waver's shoulder. "Listen to me, Waver. Despite all indications that mankind is ahead of the curve, if you are any indication, they are afraid of tomorrow. But you have something within you, a spark that few possess. You may doubt yourself, but I do not. You have the potential to be great, to stand tall and face whatever comes your way."
Waver looked up at Rider, seeing sincerity in his eyes.
Rider continued, his voice taking on a more contemplative tone. "When I lived, I conquered vast lands and amassed great power. But even then, I knew that my time was limited, that I could only achieve so much in one lifetime. Now, I have been given another chance, and the fire within me burns even brighter. I will not allow that fire to be extinguished by fear or doubt."
He straightened, his presence filling the room with almost palpable energy. "I will stand in the sun, Waver, and I will face whatever comes my way. Whether enemy or ally, I will know what to do. And you, my Master, will stand with me. We will face this war together, and we will emerge victorious."
Waver felt a surge of determination at Rider's words. He had always doubted himself, always seen his shortcomings. But in this moment, he realized that he was not alone. Rider believed in him, saw the potential within him, and that belief was enough to bolster his own resolve.
He stood up, his legs still a bit shaky, but his eyes now filled with a newfound determination. "You're right, Rider. I... I've been letting my fears control me. But no more. I will do whatever it takes to win this war, to prove myself. Not to others, but to myself."
Rider grinned, a proud and approving look on his face. "That's the spirit, Waver. Remember, true strength comes from within. You have the heart of a conqueror, even if you do not see it yet. Together, we will achieve great things."
The path ahead would be fraught with danger, but Waver was ready to face it. He would rise to the challenge, harness his talents, and prove that he was more than just a brat or a coward. He was Waver Velvet, and with Rider by his side, he would conquer the Holy Grail War and carve his name into history.
Kariya Matou leaned heavily against the cold, damp wall of the alleyway, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He could feel the presence of the Crest Worms inside him, gnawing away at his flesh, and the constant pain was like a relentless tide that threatened to drown him. His limbs, twisted and paralyzed, made every movement an agony. His once-black hair was now white, his complexion sickly and pale. The left side of his face was marred by bulging veins, a testament to the worms writhing beneath his skin. He pulled his hood further down, trying to hide the grotesque transformation that had overtaken him.
It had been a year since he discovered the horrific truth: Tokiomi Tohsaka had given his youngest daughter, Sakura, to the Matou family. The rage that had surged through Kariya upon learning this had been overwhelming.
How could Tokiomi do such a thing?
How could he hand over his innocent daughter to the cruel clutches of Zouken Matou, knowing full well the kind of torment she would endure?
Kariya had severed ties with the Matou family years ago, disgusted by their inhumane practices. But now, for Sakura's sake, he had returned to that hell. He had confronted Zouken, a man more monster than human, and made a desperate bargain: Kariya would enter the Fourth Holy Grail War and win the Grail, and in return, Zouken would release Sakura.
The memory of that agreement played in his mind like a grim echo.
"You will need power," Zouken had said, his voice dripping with malevolent amusement. "You have no training, no true knowledge of magecraft. But there is a way... if you are willing to endure the pain."
Kariya agreed without hesitation.
Anything to save Sakura.
Anything to see Aoi smile again.
The implantation of the Crest Worms had been beyond excruciating.
The worms tore through his body, expanding his magic circuits but consuming him from within. The physical toll of the Crest Worms was evident in Kariya's twisted and paralyzed limbs, his white hair, and sickly complexion. The constant pain and gnawing sensation within him made every movement an agony. The agony was unending, his health deteriorating rapidly, but he endured it all for the sake of his promise.
Even with the worms enhancing his potential, Kariya was woefully unprepared as a magus. Zouken, in his twisted wisdom, had suggested summoning a Berserker-class Servant, leveraging the Mad Enhancement trait to boost the Servant's power. And so, Kariya had called forth his Servant, a dark and twisted knight whose very presence radiated madness and fury.
But their battle were disasters. Twice Kariya had tried to focus his efforts on Tokiomi's Servant, Archer, and twice he had failed. Berserker, consumed by an obsession with Saber, had ignored Kariya's orders.
First, Rider had struck Berserker down from behind, then Archer had delivered a humiliating blow. Each failure had gnawed at Kariya's resolve, each defeat a reminder of his inadequacy.
And then the docks. The battle had been chaos, a maelstrom of power and fury. Kariya's Servant had fought valiantly but had been blindsided by a barrier of pure darkness. Wave upon wave of Noble Phantasms had assaulted them, and it was only by sheer luck and Berserker's resilience that they had survived. The strain on Kariya had been immense, his body wracked with pain as the mana drain took its toll. He could feel his strength ebbing, his vision blurring.
"Not yet," he whispered to himself, the words a mantra of defiance. "Not yet..."
He couldn't give up.
Not now.
Sakura needed him.
Aoi needed him.
He had to keep going, no matter the cost. The world swam before his eyes, the pain threatening to overwhelm him, but he clenched his fists and took a step forward.
With a groan of effort, Kariya pushed himself away from the wall and stumbled forward. He had to keep moving. He had to find a way to win. He wouldn't let Sakura down. He wouldn't let Aoi down.
"Not yet," he repeated, his voice stronger this time. "I won't give up. Not yet."
Then he collapsed.